


You Give Me Fever

by blue_jack



Series: Fever [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Tony Stark, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bottom Steve Rogers, Light BDSM, M/M, Medical Kink, Omega Steve Rogers, Paging Dr. Stark, Situational Humiliation, Top Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2019-07-01 12:17:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15773961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack
Summary: Steve would be lying if he says their first date is an unmitigated disaster.He’d also be lying if he says itisn’tan unmitigated disaster, though, so there’s that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Right_in_the_feels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Right_in_the_feels/gifts).



> ETA: I totally forgot to mention, but the title is from "Fever" performed by Peggy Lee.
> 
> For the lovely [Right_in_the_feels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Right_in_the_feels/pseuds/Right_in_the_feels) who commissioned an art piece for Fever, Breathe Your Love on Me from the amazing [buukkin](https://buukkin.tumblr.com/), which can be found [here on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14730698) and [here on tumblr](https://buukkin.tumblr.com/post/174146647371/a-lovely-commission-by-the). Extremely nsfw. Thanks again, babe! I hope this sequel brings you as much joy as the art brought me. <3333

Steve would be lying if he says their first date is an unmitigated disaster. 

He’d also be lying if he says it _isn’t_ an unmitigated disaster, though, so there’s that.

They decide to meet up for coffee not too far from Dr—er, Tony’s office. It’s a low-key first date, which Steve is grateful for considering the circumstances around all their previous interactions.

So, so grateful, Steve reminds himself as he looks down at his bed, which definitely won’t be seeing any use other than sleeping today, because he and Tony are being good and getting to know each other. 

Never mind the fact that he’s technically known Tony for years now.

Or that Tony’s seen him naked. More than once. Or that during each visit, Tony has had his fingers as well as—

But yeah. Talking. Some coffee. Light flirting and that’s it.

Yup.

Why did they pick coffee again? If they’d gone with dinner, he could’ve invited Tony in afterwards, seen how things went, but he can’t really ask Tony if he wants to come in for a drink after he just had a cup of coffee. It’s way too obvious, and the last thing he wants is for Tony to think he’s only interested in getting him into bed as soon as possible. (Even if he’s definitely interested in getting Tony into bed as soon as possible. It’s just not the only thing he’s interested in.)

Of course, Tony only has morning appointments on Saturdays, so they could always decide to grab lunch afterwards, maybe catch a movie or take a walk around, let the date run long and possibly … 

He makes his bed and then goes to straighten up the living room a little. He doesn’t have _plans_ or anything; it’s just good to have a clean apartment is all, in case unexpected visitors decide to drop in. 

He realizes he’s going a little overboard when he’s fluffing his pillows for the third time—although looking back, he hadn’t really needed to deep-clean his oven—but he can’t help it. He’s spent the past few days looking forward to the date an entirely appropriate amount, he feels, but now that there’s little more than an hour to go, it’s like he’s being attacked by a lifetime supply of nerves all at once. 

He just really wants things to go well with Tony. 

He finally goes to shower and get ready, putting on the outfit he’d wisely chosen the night before. Except.

He can’t wear these jeans. What the hell had he been thinking? They’re—no. Just no. Why does he even own these? 

He changes two more times before he finally settles on an outfit, and even then, he only stops because he doesn’t want to be late. He hasn’t been this anxious before a date since he was getting ready to take Peggy to the movies after four years of crushing on her from afar, and he feels ridiculous, but he also can’t stop smiling.

He goes to the coffee shop and glances inside, but Tony’s not there yet, so he waits, and it’s just a few minutes later that he sees Tony walking down the street toward him.

It’s the first time he’s ever seen Dr— _Tony_ without his lab coat on, and the sight is actually a little strange. Tony and lab coat always go together in his head, though, and it’s not like he didn’t know Tony had an actual body, but he’s honestly never thought about it much. 

(Other than his cock. He’s thought about Tony’s cock _a lot_. 

He’s a bad person, he realizes, but he’s going to have to dwell on that later.)

Tony waves, and Steve lifts his hand in response, his head ducking without his permission, and he knows that the smile he’s wearing right now is embarrassing, it’s so wide, but he can’t regret it, because Tony’s smiling too.

He watches as Tony gets closer, butterflies fluttering in his stomach, and it’s funny because Steve’s never had a chance to notice Tony’s shoulder to waist ratio, but … Tony has a really nice shoulder to waist ratio.

Steve swallows, his smile starting to fade.

Actually Tony’s chest is a lot wider across than Steve would’ve thought it was. And his thighs are _much_ thicker than Steve’s ever given him credit for, which is crazy, because he’s imagined Tony choking him with his cock many times. In several different positions.

He finds himself wondering if Tony has always had that kind of body underneath his lab coat, and even as he acknowledges the absurdity of the question, he can’t stop thinking it. Yes, he started falling for Tony because of his kindness and personality and okay, his good looks, but how could Steve have not known? He feels almost cheated that he hasn’t been fantasizing about what (else) was under Tony’s clothes.

Wow, he’s _such_ a bad person.

“Hi, Steve,” Tony says, stopping a couple of feet in front of him, cheeks slightly flushed from the walk, the top couple of buttons of his shirt undone and no tie in sight. He’s gorgeous, and Steve has to stifle the small sigh that wants to slip out.

“Hi, Dr. Stark,” he says, and alright, maybe it comes out a little more breathy than he’d planned but— ” _Tony_ ,” he corrects quickly, eyes going wide. Shit, he can’t believe he let that slip out. “Sorry, I mean, hi, Tony.”

The crinkles around Tony’s eyes have no right to be half as endearing as they are. “Don’t worry about it; I know it’s what you’re used to.”

And yes, that’s true, but Tony already knows how much Steve gets … caught up in his doctor visits, and he doesn’t want to give him the impression he only asked him out for his medical degree. He genuinely likes Tony, more than he should probably at this point, but he has no plans to try to stop.

They talk a bit more before heading inside, nothing particularly deep, but Steve appreciates it all the same. Their version of normal has been pretty skewed, and this is the first time they’ve had a conversation without Steve feeling incredibly embarrassed or turned on, or, more than likely, both incredibly embarrassed _and_ turned on (he might be a little more excited than entirely appropriate right now—those damn thighs—but it’s nowhere near his previous levels), and it’s nice. More than nice.

Steve insists on paying for their coffees, a couple of bottles of water, and the two pastries he gets to share, since he was the one who asked Tony out. He hadn’t expected Tony to argue, but it’s still somewhat of a relief when Tony doesn’t make a big deal about it or act like his Alpha pride is insulted and just says, “Why, Mr. Rogers, tempting me with sugar and caffeine. How can I refuse? I hope you’ll let me pay next time then.”

Implying Tony wants there to be a next time, and Steve is more than willing to agree.

They take everything to a table near the corner and the next hour flies by. It’s easy talking to Tony, and he likes that he can ask him whatever questions pop into mind, likes that Tony can do the same, and they don’t have to worry about keeping things within the doctor/patient box. They can just be Tony and Steve, and that’s more than enough.

He enjoys himself so much that he (mostly) forgets about the fact that Tony is in much better shape than a doctor has any right to be, and he lets himself get lost in Tony’s eyes and voice and smiles. 

Until Tony rolls up the sleeves of his shirt.

It takes a moment for Steve’s brain to catch up with what’s just happened, slowing down the quick, deft movements until it seems like Tony is virtually stroking his arms, and Steve stares and stares at the revealed skin, barely blinking. 

Huh.

He watches as the muscles flex.

Which. 

It’s fine. That’s fine. 

Steve has always appreciated men’s arms. Maybe … maybe not quite this much, but that’s probably just because he’s here right now, Tony directly in front of him, and once he looks away, he’ll realize his sudden fascination is actually completely normal for him. 

Once he looks away. 

The arm moves, reaching for something, Steve doesn’t notice what, and he can’t help but think it looks really strong. Capable. Like it could hold an omega down and keep him right where Dr. Stark wants him. However he wants him. So he can do whatever needs to be done for the omega’s own good.

Steve finds himself shifting in his chair, his boxer briefs sticking to him a lot more than they were a minute ago—

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Steve had assumed that since they weren’t going to be in Tony’s office that he wouldn’t need either a heat pad or the dance belt; take away the stimulus and he wouldn’t have a reaction, that just made sense, right?

“Is something wrong, Steve?”

“No,” Steve says brightly, looking into concerned eyes and somehow keeping his voice steady as he smiles with what feels like too many teeth. “Just remembered something, but it’s fine.”

Tony looks skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, really, just ...” Steve waves his hand, as if that explains anything, and keeps his gaze firmly on Tony’s face and away from his bare arms. And his unfairly firm jawline, which is looking really appealing right now. And his warm brown eyes, which Steve suspects turn nearly black with lust, just to be safe. He needs to calm down. It feels like his boxers are damp but not soaking, and as long as he keeps his thoughts out of the gutter, he can still salvage this. 

“So what made you decide to become a doctor, Tony?” Steve asks, throwing the question out there in desperation to move the attention away from him, and it’s not until it’s out of his mouth that he really thinks about what he’s just done. Asking about someone’s professions wouldn’t normally be a bad thing. Except for the fact that Steve gets off on Tony’s job, and talking about it probably isn’t the best idea he’s ever had considering he’s trying to not think about anything too exciting.

Tony squints at him but kindly doesn’t comment on Steve’s poor life choices.

“Ah, well, funny enough, it actually started because of a bet.”

“A bet?” Steve tries to pay attention, because he’s honestly interested in the answer, without paying _too_ much attention, in case it gets him in trouble.

“Yeah, I was studying electrical and mechanical engineering in college, and my best friend Rhodey bet me that I couldn’t handle a soft science class.” Tony laughs. “He initially wanted me to take a class on Chaucer, but I said he’d have to take the class with me so we could see who did better, and he switched it to biology instead. Turned out that I loved it, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“From engineer to doctor? That’s quite the change,” Steve says, relaxing a little at the innocuous answer. Talking about what Tony was like when he was younger shouldn’t be dangerous. “Do you ever miss it?”

“Oh, well, engineering’s in my blood, so I still tinker around when I have free time. I started a small company that specializes in medical diagnostic equipment, and I’m working on a robot that could be an exam-room assistant, handing items to the doctor, testing blood samples in real-time, sterilizing tools, that kind of thing.”

“Wow. That’s amazing, Tony!” He’d had no idea Tony was so accomplished.

“Thank you,” Tony says, his cheeks flushing at the compliment and an almost shy smile spreading across his face, and it feels like Steve’s heart hitches in its rhythm at the sight, starting over in a new beat.

“How far along is that? Am I going to be seeing the Stark brand in every doctor’s office next year?” he teases, wanting to see more of that expression.

“I do actually have the base model ready for manufacture,” Tony says, leaning forward in his enthusiasm, “but I did a few market studies, and one thing several doctors want is for me to include …” He trails off, clearing his throat, and it might be Steve’s imagination but he thinks his face gets redder. “Anyway, I don’t want to bore you, but yeah, I have to add a little more functionality, and then it should be ready to go. I imagine I’ll be able to start production with the advanced model in less than a year.”

“What kind of additional things are they asking for?” It’s not like he really knows what happen in a doctor’s office beyond the routine, but he’d love to hear more about Tony’s invention.

Tony winces. “Um … well. Some omega-specific … procedures. Would you like another coffee? I’m going to get a—”

“They want to automate … pap smears?” Steve asks, confused, because that seems cold and somewhat dehumanizing, and he can’t imagine how anyone would think that’d be a good idea.

“Nooo … that’s not ...” Tony takes a deep breath. “Some doctors want the option to have um, attachments. To help omegas during heats. There’s a small but still significant number of patients who need to be monitored during a heat, and a lot of doctors would prefer to keep that in-house instead of sending their patients somewhere else, which can be infeasible because of price or distance or what have you.”

Steve’s pretty sure his mouth is hanging open, but he can’t find the wherewithal to close it. 

Attachments to help omegas during their heats. There’s only one thing Tony can be talking about.

Right?

Steve isn’t crazy, is he? 

Because it sounds to him like Tony’s building a … well, a fucking machine, and he tries to wrap his mind around the concept.

Which works all too well.

Tony’s building a _fucking machine_.

It’s a miracle Steve doesn’t slide right off his chair with all the slick that gushes out of him.

His heats have never been that bad. Oh, he wants to climb out of skin with the need to touch and be touched, has thought about Tony more than he feels comfortable admitting, but he can get through them without outside help.

Not all omegas can, though. Some omegas can’t handle their heats without someone there with them. Others can’t stand to be touched at all. He’s heard of omegas that run fevers that can barely be brought down or conversely, can’t seem to get warm and shake from the cold the whole time. There’s a myriad of things that can and do go wrong, and Steve knows he’s lucky.

So it’s horrible of him to suddenly wish otherwise, and he tries to stop himself from imagining what it’d be like to walk into Dr. Stark’s office and tell him his heats are giving him problems—

_“Please, Dr. Stark,” he whispers, squirming in his seat, his ass throbbing. “I can’t stand it anymore.”_

_“Well, we do have one option for omegas like you, Steve,” Dr. Stark says, coming to stand by his chair and lifting Steve’s chin to look up at him, “but it might be too much. I’d have to observe you the whole time in order to monitor your responses.”_

_“Anything. Just please,” Steve says, and he makes no move to stop Dr. Stark as he reaches for the first button of Steve’s shirt._

—but he can’t. It doesn’t matter that Tony’s right there, or that they’re in public, or that Steve’s never even thought about a fucking machine before, because it’s all he can think about now. About Dr. Stark’s hands pulling him to the end of the exam table and leaving him bare and open as he maneuvers the machine to the right height, choosing which size and settings to use on him while Steve lies there, panting with a combination of nervousness and anticipation. Steve feels like he’s drowning in shame and arousal as he grips the bottom of his chair to keep from reaching out, and he clenches his thighs together in a pitiful effort to contain the problem, like he can’t feel the warmth seeping across his seat.

“—eve? Are you sure you’re alright?” Tony asks, and Steve wishes he could appreciate the concern in his voice more. “You’re suddenly looking really flushed and like you’re in pain, and your breathing has gotten faster. Would you mind if I checked your—”

“I have to go,” Steve blurts out desperately before Tony can finish his sentence, as if the damage isn’t already done, a veritable flood of slick pulsing out of him at the thought of Tony putting his hands all over him right now. “I just remembered something I have to do. At home. By myself.”

He wants to wince at his own words, realizes they sound like he’s lying, like he’s crazy actually, even though he really does need to go home. As soon as possible. He keeps hearing a phantom Dr. Stark tell him _I’ll have to restrain you to make sure you don’t hurt yourself_ and _you can take all of it for me, can’t you, Steve?_ and he feels so empty, he aches. 

Except Tony’s lips pull down at the corner, his expression losing some quality that Steve can’t define, and even though he says, “Oh. Yeah. Of course, I didn’t mean to keep you so long,” Steve knows he can’t leave it like this. Tony thinks he’s making up an excuse to finish their date early, completely out of the blue, and there’s a huge part of Steve that’s howling in protest.

He doesn’t want to abandon Tony, wants to stay with him and learn more about the things he likes to do and exchange silly stories and see if Tony kisses on the first date (and what else he’s willing to do as well), but in order to do that, he somehow has to admit that he’s leaking through his pants and barely refraining from throwing himself at Tony and riding him right then and there, other patrons be damned.

He’s already humiliated himself so many times in front of Tony, and Tony had still wanted to go out with him, but there’s the very real possibility that if Steve tells him what’s wrong, it’ll be the last straw. That Tony will decide Steve’s some kind of over-sexed maniac that needs counseling to get over his addiction, maybe even medical intervention and treatment—

He squeezes his eyes closed, shivering, and this time, a whimper slips free.

“Steve?”

He doesn’t want to drive Tony off.

But there’s nothing in him that can bear the thought of hurting him.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” he manages to rasp out, “but I—”

Steve hears a sharp inhale, and he looks up to meet wide eyes, which are much closer than they’d been a second ago.

After all this time, Tony is intimately aware of what Steve smells like when he’s aroused, and apparently while Steve’s eyes were shut, Tony had leaned forward close enough to catch his scent over the pervading aroma of coffee.

“Are you …?”

Steve nods ashamedly. At least he doesn’t have to explain.

“Okay.” Tony starts to take a deep breath and then visibly stops himself, leaning back in his seat. “Okay. You need to go?”

He nods again, wishing he could control himself, wishing he knew what Tony was thinking.

“Then let’s go.” Tony hesitates before saying, “I’m sorry about your pants,” before deliberately tilting his bottle of water over so it spills across Steve’s lap.

Steve gasps, his hands tightening around the wood so hard, it creaks. 

The water isn’t cold anymore, but it’s still cool against his heated skin, and Steve would like to say that it makes his erection go down, but it really, really doesn’t.

“Oh no! I’m so clumsy!” Tony says loudly, pushing his chair back with a screech and grabbing all the napkins.

For one moment, Steve’s sure Tony’s going to dab at his lap with them, and his cock twitches against his jeans so hard that Steve’s sure Tony can see it—

But Tony just lays them on the edge of the table so the water stops dripping off.

And then he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

Which is … which is the _opposite_ of being helpful, especially when it’s revealed that Tony’s wearing a tight, white tank top underneath, which does absolutely nothing to conceal his firm chest. Or trim waist. Or defined biceps. (Steve wants to object, because what the fuck are Tony’s biceps? He’s a _doctor_ for crying out loud. Steve’s going to become dehydrated at this rate.)

“Tie this around your waist,” Tony whispers, handing Steve his shirt, and then he heads to the counter, presumably to get more napkins, while Steve tries to put himself together.

Tony comes back with a spray bottle of cleaner and paper towels, and Steve doesn’t know what he told the store employees for them to just give them to him without coming to inspect the situation themselves, but he’s thankful nonetheless. 

He feels guilty for making Tony take care of his mess, for not even being able to help because he has to go to the bathroom and arrange things in order to keep from being arrested for indecency, and just for being the way he is around Tony. It manages to kill the arousal at long last, and it leaves him drained and unhappy. 

The walk to his place is … uncomfortable, although most of that’s because Steve honestly doesn’t know what to say. What _can_ he say? How does he make up for all of this?

What’s worse is that walking next to Tony, feeling the heat of him, seeing the way his muscles seemingly glisten under the sun, makes Steve leak all over again, his body calling out to Tony to touch and taste and devour, like Steve hasn’t permanently humiliated himself. He has to consciously keep his gaze directed forward, no matter how much it wants to drift, and he does multiplication tables in his head in a woefully unsuccessful attempt to keep his thoughts occupied.

He’s sure Tony’s probably wondered about him in the past, the omega on Tony’s table who can barely keep his legs closed when he’s around. Maybe Tony had been willing to overlook it before, but he knows Tony has to be realizing just how much better he can do.

Steve shouldn’t be allowed within a fifty foot radius of Tony, but the thought of not seeing him again makes him want to curl up into a nest of blankets and grieve. He’d been so hopeful things would go well, and instead, he’s ruined everything.

“Are you going to be alright?” Tony asks when they reach Steve’s apartment, and the answer is no, but Steve won’t admit it out loud.

“I’m so sorry for everything, Tony,” he says miserably, clutching onto Tony’s shirt, the only thing he’ll have to remind him of Tony, to give him the strength to say goodbye. “I—”

“What? No. No, Steve, there’s nothing to be sorry for, Sweetheart,” Tony tells him, taking Steve’s hands and squeezing them gently, and Steve is so caught off-guard by Tony touching him and being affectionate that he can only stare. “I mean, I was pretty surprised, and I know it’s not how either of us expected today to go, but that was just … an accident,” he says, as if Steve spilled his coffee on him instead of becoming extremely and inappropriately turned on. “Now I know not to talk shop, and the next time should go much smoother.”

Talk shop? Next time? Steve searches his eyes for mockery or condemnation, but they’re just filled with warmth instead, and it’s all Steve can do not to throw his arms around Tony and hold on for dear life. He can’t believe he’s this lucky, that Tony doesn’t mind they just had to sneak out of a coffee shop because Steve has slick drying on this thighs, and he doesn’t want to question his good fortune, but he can’t help but ask plaintively, “How can you even _want_ to go out with me again?”

“Oh, Steve,” Tony says, laughing softly, his expression turning embarrassed. “I’ve been head over heels for as long as I’ve known you. How can I _not_ want to see you again? I always want to see you.” 

He leans in while Steve’s still staggering from that statement and presses a kiss to his cheek. 

“Call me when you’re feeling better,” Tony says, starting to slide his hands free, like Steve’s getting over a cold or something instead of planning to masturbate until his arms practically fall off, Tony’s shirt pressed to his face as he searches for hints of his scent even with the blockers Tony uses for work, and fuck. So many alphas would assume after everything that had happened that Steve had taken them home for sex, but Tony’s getting ready to walk away so Steve can take care of himself, and is it any wonder that Steve wants him so much?

“Or you can come inside instead,” he blurts out, knowing he shouldn’t, knowing he should show an ounce of self-control and let Tony leave so they can have a second first date and get to know each other better like they’d intended, but he can’t. He’s always been weak when it comes to Tony, and with every second he spends with him, his condition just gets worse.

“Please,” he says when Tony hesitates, his eyes searching Steve’s, and Steve doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until it escapes in a rush as Tony begins to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is now a series! This installment might have a part 2, though. What do you think, guys? A little bit of porn for the end of the date? Or shall we move on to actual, actual medkink?
> 
> Also! The arm/tank top thing was inspired by this clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddgwoz7UUsw
> 
> :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been forever since I originally posted this, but yay, an update?

The only reason Steve lets go of Tony’s hand is in order to turn around and lock the door. His friends have a habit of walking into his apartment without so much as knocking, and while that normally wouldn’t be a problem, he’d rather everyone had clothes on the first time they met.

He turns around expecting Tony to pull him into a kiss—but Tony’s actually a few feet away, looking at some of the photographs on the wall, and that’s … okay. Steve supposes. It’s not like he’s in heat, so there’s no rush. 

Mostly. 

Maybe he should … give Tony a tour? Before he drags him to the bedroom? That’s probably only polite.

Except now that he’s looking at Tony with his tight tank top and unfairly-toned biceps, Steve becomes all too conscious of how he’s sweaty from nerves, his thighs are tacky with slick, his jeans are wet, and Tony’s shirt is still hanging around his hips. It can’t be a good look on him.

His interactions with Tony to date can best be summarized by, _Why am I like this?_ and it doesn’t seem like that’s going to change any time soon. Fuck, this wasn’t how he imagined asking Tony in after coffee. He’d wanted to be … not sexy exactly, but attractive. Appealing. At this point, however, he’d honestly settle for anything above “complete and utter mess.”

Still, Tony’s in his apartment, and that can only lead to good things.

Maybe right after Steve cleans up, though.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says, sending a silent apology to his mother, who would be appalled to know he was planning on abandoning a first-time guest to his own devices, “but I’d like to shower—”

“Oh sure! Take your time,” Tony says, smiling easily, and as always, Steve finds himself smiling back, but … 

Would it kill Tony to look a little disappointed? 

They’re about to have sex. And Tony seems just as composed as ever.

Which isn’t bad, of course! It’s just … Steve’s always been the one to push things forward, from broaching the idea of going out to … well, to propositioning him on their first date, and alright, maybe that’s a little fast. And fine, Tony did have the whole legal issue of not hitting on his patient to keep him from saying anything, which Steve completely understands. 

But is it too much to ask that Tony get a little flushed? Or that his eyes wander every so quickly over Steve’s body? Or that he look like he can’t wait get his hands on Steve as soon as possible?

It’s not like Steve wants Tony to go all “rawr, I am Alpha!” on him, fall into some sort of pheromone-induced haze, and be so overcome with lust that he tries to fuck Steve up against the door, Steve’s jeans tight around his thighs because they can’t be bothered to take off any clothes, the door shuddering with each and every thrust so all of his neighbors know exactly what they’re up to. _Or_ for Tony to slip it to him in the show—slip _into_ the shower _with_ him, and okay, shit, okay, so maybe he does want that. 

But only in a fantasy sort of way. He knows he’d be disappointed if that were the type of alpha Tony actually turned out to be. 

For their first time anyway. Steve can see all sorts of ways that could be fun once they’d been together longer.

And isn’t that a crazy thought? That there’s a chance at “together” for the two of them? That they—

“Steve?” Tony says, and Steve lets out a humiliatingly high laugh as he launches himself away from the door, his cheeks burning. He is the. Absolute. Worst.

Although, if anything, that seems to prove his point. Here he is, getting lost in daydreams, and Tony’s just … standing there.

“Right, so please help yourself to anything in the kitchen, and the television remotes are on the coffee table, and I’m just going to be a couple of minutes, but if you need anything, feel free to knock.” He sends Tony one last bright smile and doesn’t quite slam his bedroom door, but it’s a near thing.

He closes his eyes, the heels of his hands pressing against his forehead.

Maybe … maybe Tony isn’t really that interested in him?

Except Steve remembers, _I’ve been head over heels for as long as I’ve known you_ , and for once it’s his heart and not his loins that melt into a puddle of goo. There’s no reason for Tony to lie about that, because it has to be painfully obvious that Steve’s a sure thing, like do not pass Go, do not collect $200, just go straight to Tony and sit on his dick like Steve’s been wanting to do for years now. 

And he will. Right after he takes his shower. 

Speaking of which, fuck. What’s he doing in here? The bathroom’s off the living room.

Damn it. Steve kind of wants to curl into a ball and moan for a while. That’s not really an option, however, so there’s nothing left to do but stiffen his spine and throw all his clothes into the hamper, take one long, _long_ sniff of Tony’s shirt, even though it mostly just smells like him, and then wrap a spare towel around his waist and march back outside. 

It feels _incredibly_ good to see Tony’s mouth fall open as Steve comes out, and he wishes he could watch Tony watching him, but he’d literally have to walk backwards in order to do it. So after giving Tony what feels like a stupidly bashful smile, he crosses the short distance to the bathroom, the weight of Tony’s eyes following his every step. He finds himself going a little slower than necessary in order to extend the time he can bask under Tony’s appreciative gaze—

“Oh!” he says, whirling around because he’s finally remembered his manners, and his mother is feeling the overwhelming urge to swat him right now, without knowing why. “Did you find everything alright? Do you need help with anything?” 

Tony’s eyes flick up to meet his. “Nooooo,” Tony says, his face starting to become red the longer they look at each other, and the fact that Steve caught Tony staring at his ass really shouldn’t be a surprise, considering Steve’s been hoping for exactly that to happen, but it is. Maybe just because it’s the first real _sexual_ thing Tony’s ever done towards him—putting things in Steve’s ass doesn’t really count, since that’s Tony’s job—but it’s proof; actual proof that Tony is attracted to Steve, and it’s a good thing Steve’s already wearing a towel, because it catches the slick that starts leaking out of him. 

He takes a half-step towards Tony before he realizes what he’s doing. Tony, who touches his tongue to the corner of his lips in a way that frankly should be illegal in forty two states, his gaze drifting down for a fraction of a second, scraping along Steve’s skin, before being jerked back up, and fuck. Steve doesn’t really need to shower, does he? He’s just going to get dirty again in a minute, right?

Except he doesn’t want to go to Tony, sticky and smelling of dried slick and sweat. It feels like he’s done everything wrong up until this point, so he can wait ten more—eight—five more minutes and do at least this much right. 

“Alright, well let me know,” he says, his voice breathier than it should be, and then slips into the bathroom, almost closing the door on his foot in his daze.

He takes a very _thorough_ shower, at least for the important parts, and tries to think boring thoughts but is pitifully unsuccessful. He has to turn the water cold partway through, but the effects start wearing off as he’s getting dry, and he ends up wrapping the towel haphazardly around his waist before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

Just to freeze in the doorway. What is—

Tony’s back in the shirt he’d given Steve. And yes, it’s rumpled, but all the buttons are done up and the sleeves are rolled down, and for some reason he’s wearing one of Steve’s ties and carrying one of Steve’s notebooks, and there’s something about the way he’s standing, just a tiniest bit straighter than he’d been when Steve had gone into the bathroom, his expression coolly pleasant and somewhat distant—

“I’ve thought it over, Steve, and after the way you were acting in the coffee shop, I really think I’d feel better if I examined you after all.” A flicker of uncertainty passes over his face. “If that’s—if that’s alright with you?”

Steve has to swallow twice, his throat making a clicking noise each time, before he manages to ask, “Y-you want to do … what?”

Tony’s eyes search his, and whatever he sees there makes him smile warmly. 

But somehow not _as_ warmly as he’d been smiling during their date. 

“I’d like to examine you. I realize we’re not in my office, but we could use your bed as an exam table, and I’ll perform a few tests, some of which might be a bit intrusive but nothing worse than what I’ve done to you before—”

Steve doesn’t realize he’s put out a hand to steady himself until he’s holding onto the doorframe, but he hadn’t been ready to hear something like that come out of Tony’s mouth.

“Now, see, this is exactly what I’m talking about,” Tony says, walking up to him. He takes Steve’s arm and slings it over his shoulders. “You shouldn’t be standing up.”

“Tony, you don’t …” He refuses to let himself get distracted by the fact that they’re touching. For the first time. Somewhere other than their hands and Steve’s—

Okay, he’s definitely going to get distracted if he keeps going down that road. He thinks he knows what Tony’s doing, and while there’s a not insignificant part of him that wants to go along with it, wants to go along with whatever Tony wants to do to him, it’s also unnecessary. He’d be incredibly happy to let things proceed the way they had been before he’d showered. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Of course I don’t,” Tony says as he leads Steve forward, wrapping his oh-so-firm arm around Steve’s waist. “But I want to,” he says, squeezing Steve’s side, the tips of his fingers slipping under the towel, practically burning into this skin, and fuck, who’s Steve to argue?

Steve finds himself pressing more firmly against Tony, acutely aware that he’s mostly naked and in danger of getting even more so with every step they take as the towel attempts to slip free and Steve makes very little effort to stop it. 

_But I want to._

He just can’t believe what Tony’s willing to do for him. Even when he’d been fantasizing about Tony that morning, he’d never imagined something like this happening. He wants to tell Tony he doesn’t need it to become deliriously turned on. Tony’s biceps are more than enough. _Tony_ is more than enough. But he can’t seem to force the words out out.

Tony doesn’t mind that Steve’s … peculiar about this sort of thing. Even growing up, he’s always been more eager to go to a doctor than he maybe should’ve been, and he’s been known to masturbate a time or two (or twenty) after his semi-annual visits, but the doctors in his fantasies have always been faceless. Nameless. Until Tony. Until Tony had him on his table and proceeded to give Steve one of the most intense orgasms in his life.

And the fact that Tony is making an effort to provide Steve something he so obviously enjoys … 

How’s he supposed to keep his poor heart safe?

He can’t, is the answer, and Steve notices the hot line of slick sliding down his thigh as they walk, feels the towel rub against what has to be his blatantly obvious erection with every step, but it’s like he doesn’t care at this point. The whole situation is designed to make him wetter than he’s ever been, and for once, he doesn’t have to fight. He can just give in. Which is such an overwhelming thought that he ends up letting Tony take some of his weight, even though he knows he shouldn’t; he’s taller than Tony and probably outweighs him by over forty pounds.

But there’s barely a wobble in Tony’s stride, annnnd now Steve’s thinking about Tony’s dangerously thick thighs and invitingly broad chest, and okay, there’s the very real possibility that he’s going to have to steam clean his carpet if they don’t start walking faster. Tony just feels so good against him, completely clothed while Steve’s virtually naked—although it’d be so easy for Tony to tug on the towel and correct that, to tell Steve he needs to see everything and that the towel is in his way, that he—

“Steve?”

He blinks, lifting his head from Tony’s hair where he’s … apparently been trying to catch Tony’s scent, oh crap, even though he knows that Tony has to wear blockers for work. He doesn’t know why scenting Tony is more embarrassing than anything else they’ve been doing, but it really, really is. 

It’s just incredibly intimate. And sure, so is sex of course, but scenting implies permanence to a certain extent, the desire to memorize how someone smells, to wear that scent on his own skin as a sign that he’s taken, and yes, Steve’s basically naked, but it’s somehow more revealing to let Tony know Steve’s dying to scent him than it is to remove the towel.

Except when Steve glances uncertainly at Tony, the expression on Tony’s face isn’t amused or put off. If anything, it’s—

“Why don’t you lie down, Steve,” Tony says, his voice filled with a heat that makes a fresh surge of slick drip down Steve’s thighs, and yes, okay, lying down sounds like a great idea.

It’s only when Steve sits that he realizes Tony’s stripped the blanket and put a towel—a few towels, Steve notices, seeing where the corners don’t completely match up—across the mattress for Steve to lie on. Not that Steve had needed them, since he may or may not have gotten out his heat sheets this morning, but Tony hadn’t known that. 

Steve blinks down at the towels, lightly touching the evidence that Tony had worried about protecting Steve’s bed, about taking care of Steve, and he just—

“I hope you don’t mind that I went ahead and set everything up,” Tony says, and Steve looks up to see a trace of concern on his face. “I thought you might prefer—”

And Steve knows that Tony’s made a lot of effort to think up this scenario and set everything up, and Steve appreciates it more than he can say, wants to know what sort of things Tony would’ve done and what kind of questions he would’ve asked and exactly just how intrusive he would’ve gotten, but he can’t wait anymore.

He yanks Tony down and kisses him like he’s been dying to do since the first day they met.

It’s almost more than he can handle. 

Not to say it couldn’t be better, because Tony apparently hadn’t been expecting that, so the kiss is messy and all over the place and they only manage to avoid knocking heads through a combination of luck and Tony’s quick reflexes. 

But Tony feels … amazing. The scratch of his beard, the softness of his lips, the way his hand eventually comes up to first cup Steve’s jaw and then drag back into his hair, Steve’s imagined all of it, time and time again, but it’s always been hazy in the past. (Quick too, if he’s being honest, a prelude to fantasies about unforgiving fingers and a thick cock, and he is ashamed of himself, okay, but considering how his interactions with Tony normally go, he thinks it’s understandable.)

It means, though, that he’s unprepared for the huff of breath against his mouth, the slide of Tony’s tongue; is completely vulnerable to the taste of Tony, less like something new and more like something lost and longed for ever since. 

And Steve knows that’s a ridiculous thought—it’s not like he’s ever gotten his mouth on any part of Tony’s anatomy, no matter how much he might’ve wished otherwise—but it’s true nonetheless, and he just wants more and more, until he’s had enough to make up for having none up until this point.

And that’s when the thought hits him that … _he can_. He’s allowed to now. He can have as much of Tony as he wants, and the idea of it makes him feel crazy, makes him shudder and arch up towards Tony, a whine building in his throat.

“Steve,” Tony breathes, pulling away slightly, and no. No. 

“Don’t stop,” Steve gasps frantically, his fingers tugging Tony’s head back. “Please don’t stop kissing me.”

Tony stares and then whispers a soft, “ _Fuck,_ ” as he lowers his head.

Steve lets out a embarrassingly eager noise when Tony climbs on top of him, but what does it matter when he abandoned his pride in regards to Tony a long time ago, and he wraps his legs around him, pulling him down so he can grind his cock against Tony’s thigh. 

His very naked cock, the towel having given up its hold sometime while they were kissing.

The amount of slick he releases then—that he’s _been_ releasing, he realizes, everything wet underneath him—is beyond obscene. 

No amount of towels that Tony could’ve put down was ever going to save Steve’s bed.

He registers the fact that his fingers are fumbling at Tony’s belt without his conscious permission, and damn it, he’s desperate and very obviously so at that, but he doesn’t want to be the type of person to rush past any kind of foreplay and go straight to the fucking, _even though he really wants to rush past any kind of foreplay and go straight to the fucking_. 

Tony deserves better than that, though.

That resolution lasts for a whole two seconds as Steve unsuccessfully tries to release the death-grip he has on Tony’s belt buckle until Tony murmurs, “Condoms?” against Steve’s lips, and Steve nearly cries in relief.

It’s ironic in one way, because Steve actually hates the idea of using a condom, wants to experience every last inch of Tony as he spears him open, wants Tony to have first-hand proof of exactly how wet Steve gets for him, and wants to feel Tony’s come leaking out of him afterward. He knows, however, that as a doctor—he tries not to whimper and fails miserably—Tony would argue if Steve told him to go without, and Steve can’t stand the thought of delaying this any longer.

The word “table” comes out a little strangled, but at least Steve manages to say it. He still can’t force himself to stop kissing Tony as he reaches for a drawer (or let go of his buckle, but that’s neither here nor there), but he makes do with Tony’s neck, his shoulder, his chest—Steve lets out another gush of slick as the feel of how defined Tony’s chest is, and he can’t decide whether it’s better or worse that Tony’s still wearing his shirt.

He latches back onto Tony’s mouth as soon as he can, and he finally, _finally_ gets Tony’s belt and then pants undone, and just as he’s starting to shove them down, Tony runs a hand down his thigh. Steve can’t help the way he instinctively spreads his legs open that much more and squeezes whatever he’s holding, which is Tony’s pants in this case, and then Tony’s slipping a finger inside.

In the past, that would’ve been enough to almost if not actually make him come, but not this time, not when Tony’s cock is _right there_ , and Steve had always thought Tony was kind, but it turns out he can be undeniably cruel as well. Steve whines miserably low in his throat when Tony adds another finger, even now refusing to stop kissing him, and he adamantly twists away when Tony tries to add a third, his thighs clenching around Tony’s hips as he attempts to rub against the hard curve of his cock. 

Steve doesn’t need to be stretched. He doesn’t _want_ to be stretched. He wants to feel every last moment of Tony breaking him open.

“Okay. Okay,” Tony says, muffled against Steve’s mouth, and he pulls his fingers out, making Steve jerk with the loss, even though he hadn’t wanted them anyway. He’s just so desperate to be filled with Tony that he can’t stand it.

Listening to the jangle of Tony’s belt and the crinkle of the condom wrapper is another form of torture, and Steve doesn’t mean to bite at Tony’s mouth, but he can’t stop, aching with want. Tony positions the head of his cock against him, and as Steve feels the large, blunt pressure, he has a fraction of a second to realize maybe Tony stretching him might have been a good idea after all, and then Tony starts pushing in.

It doesn’t matter how wet Steve is or how much he wants this, Tony’s so big that it requires effort for him to fit, and it feels like Steve’s lower body locks up as Tony makes a place for himself inside of him, the burn and the stretch incredible. 

There’s no way Tony can just glide in, and Tony has to pull back slightly, force himself back in with these small thrusts and jabs that shove the air out of Steve’s lungs in breathy, shocked grunts, like there’s not room for both oxygen and Tony’s cock in his body, and at that thought, Steve comes before he can fully process what’s happening.

“Oh fuck, oh, Steve,” he hears dimly, but he doesn’t really understand what Tony’s saying, his body jerking as wave after wave of sensation rolls through him, not even pleasure—or at least, not _just_ pleasure, too sudden and immense to be comfortable. It’s all he can do to ride it out, and when he comes to, his fingers are digging into Tony’s back and tears are leaking from the corners of his eyes, and over the roar of his heartbeat, he can hear the filthy, almost disgusting, wet sounds of Tony fucking into him. 

Now that Steve’s been split open on Tony’s cock, Tony is finally able to slide in and out with something resembling ease, and Steve’s making so much slick that he could swear that there are little splashes against his thighs with each thrust. The friction is intense enough to make him hold on to Tony for all he’s worth, and he’s nearly curled up into a ball, his knees by his ears, but even now he’s unwilling to stop kissing Tony, although he’s lost all technique at this point, just panting and making weak, helpless noises as Tony’s tongue invades his mouth. 

Tony’s large enough that he can’t avoid Steve’s prostate, and Steve’s hips jump each and every time the head of Tony’s cock hits it, his legs shaking nonstop at the abuse. A part of him wants to beg Tony to wait, to give him a chance to recover so everything isn’t so sharp and overwhelming, like he’s being shoved toward climax instead of led, but he doesn’t. He won’t, ever. 

Tony’s going in so deep that it actually hurts, and he knows that Tony’s stretched him out so much that he’ll be loose and sloppy by the time Tony pulls out, gaping open and dribbling slick, and the tears start falling even faster, because it’s all so good that he can’t keep them back.

“Please,” Steve gasps, finally tearing his mouth away so he can talk, his lips swollen and bruised. “Your knot, please, Tony, please—”

Fuck, he wants Tony’s knot so much, and he doesn’t even care if he comes—although who’s he kidding? Of course he’ll come. He’s about to come again as it is, his approaching orgasm makes him tense up so hard he thinks he’s going to shatter when it finally hits, and if Tony were to knot him, he’d come over and over again, get knot-drunk on Tony’s cock and keep coming from the aftershocks long after Tony was finished with him.

“I can’t, Sweetheart, not with the blockers,” Tony moans, thrusting harder as if to make up for it, deep and punishing, and Steve cries out loudly at the change, his lower body aching and sore. He comes before the disappointment can fully hit, pleasure bursting through him and wiping his thoughts clean of anything that isn’t Tony’s cock and what it’s doing to him, and he shakes and jerks, unable to control his body as Tony takes him apart. 

He’s feels grateful when Tony curses and comes, humiliatingly so, and it almost feels like another orgasm, he’s so filled with pride and pleasure, although nowhere as powerful as the first. He doesn’t … that’s never happened to him before, he’s never felt like that before, but the thought of Tony coming inside of him, of being _used_ by him, as a way to get off, as a place to put his come, has Steve groaning and clenching around Tony’s cock again and again, as if desperate to show him how good he could be if Tony would only give him the chance.

The thought is so strange and disorienting that he barely responds when Tony kisses him and doesn’t move when Tony pulls out other than to let his legs fall to the bed, splaying out, and Steve blinks up at the ceiling, still breathing hard, his body buzzing.

He’s dimly aware of Tony leaving and coming back, but it seems distant and unimportant, even when Tony starts wiping him with a warm washcloth. The world only comes back into focus when Tony’s hands stroke his thighs, and then Steve shudders, his knees coming up automatically and spreading wide, slick dripping down his ass.

“Oh, Steve,” Tony says, after a short pause, his voice low and reverent, “just look at you, Sweetheart.” Tony’s fingers circle his hole and then slide into him without resistance, playing with him as he lies there, exhausted and vulnerable.

And fuck, Steve thinks he’s falling in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I do another installment of this series, I think we'll get to hear more from Tony. Steve kind of directed the show this time around, but I think Tony should get a chance as well, right?

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: Nooooooooooooooo, I don't have a beta, but why wouldn't someone tell me I wrote "I'm can't"? *hides face in shame* Damn you, typos! Damn you to hell!


End file.
